Sins of Our Youth
by screamingwindchime
Summary: KinkMeme3 Fill: Leonardo is 24 when he is accused of sodomy with a 17 year old.


**AN** So I've been kind of inactive as of late, I don't think I have to justify myself, but I _did_ fill a kink on the third meme. This is slash n' smut; don't like, don't read. If you _do_ like, please review. If there's something that irks you, please review so I can fix it. Thank you. :)

Best enjoyed in Tahoma font, with 3/4 margin. :)

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><p>There is a wasted glob of cardinal red pigment and oil on a marble slab; there is a crack in the wall by the kitchen doorway's arc (where there shouldn't be one, he muses, telling himself he'll find some cement to patch it when he or Vicenzo goes into the market another day); there is also a fault in Agniolo's makeshift model's pedestal; a shallow dip in the supposed-to-be flat platform tells him as much.<p>

His mind races from thought to thought as he waits for his model, idly wondering if his paint would crust up and dry if he prepares his colours now, the way his model's been arriving so late ("The bank keeps me occupied," he says, lying through his teeth and Leonardo knows it, based on how his boots are scuffed and dirtied and his shirt is wrinkled all over). He thinks, smiling to himself, if Ezio would finally be tired enough to simply stand and stay still, so that he could paint Madonna Maria's son. His commission is coming slower than it should, and though Maria's not complaining, he's getting antsy about it.

Leonardo breathes a sigh of relief as heavy fists knock on his carved front door, at first shaken from his thoughts. He then remembers he's sent all of his-apprentices out on errands, and he'd have to get the door.

Moving past tables and deserted sketches and plans, strewn all over and "temporarily" stopped ("_I lacked motivation in the first place_," he says, frowning at a particularly well shaded sketch of a woman's head) he tries to remember what he resolved to get done today: get the detailing on his face, and mark out areas of light (because shading from light to dark was what everyone did) on his hair and clothing and whatever else he could do. For the past few nights he'd been trying to sketch his draft of the boy's face on the canvas, unable to do it the way he wanted, though finally, earlier that morning (before dawn broke) he was satisfied. Only then he realized he lacked more detail in the eyes and lips, swearing inwardly at his mistake-it would cost him precious time!

Pulling a lock sideways and up, then turning a mechanism he called a 'knob,' he was greeted with a gruff '_Buongiorno_, Leonardo' and Ezio rudely shoving his way into the studio. Offended, Leonardo grabs his shoulder in an attempt to face him but his grip is shaken off as Ezio makes his way to the platform.

"Excuse me, Ezio," he says, slamming the heavy door shut and locking it hastily. "what seems to be the problem?" he says it in such a way that his irritation is masked with polite concern. When he is met with silence, he rolls his eyes and exhales quickly. "All right, since you won't tell me, change into your vest and we'll get started."

Without a backward glance Ezio strips off his brown doublet, replacing it with an intricate vest his mother had entrusted to Leonardo for the purposes of the commission. Its golden stitching glittered as he adjusted it, slipping its fabric loops over jeweled buttons to hold it in place.

"You are being paid to paint me, so get to work," he said, businesslike, stretching his back to get comfortable in the vest. Creases formed, much to Leonardo's dismay. He approached his model, reaching out to straighten the front of it. Ezio blocked him and did so himself, and though it wasn't neat enough for his liking, he sensed Ezio's tension and told him what he'd been telling him for the past weeks: stand straight, shoulders relaxed, chin up and don't clench your jaw. Ezio understood the directions and got into the pose quickly (_'Experienced,'_ Leonardo mused) though he noticed how Ezio's left shoulder was stiff and there was a discolouration on his neck. He didn't think to mind it, perhaps it was one of the stained glass window's he'd had installed from an apprentice glassblower playing tricks with the light.

Settling behind his easel, he picked up a palette and a fine tipped horsehair brush. He slipped a well-worn canvas apron over his doublet, adjusting its leather cords comfortably.

Holding the palette and brush in one hand, he tapped dry brown pigment from a vial onto the palette on three areas, far from each. He replaced the brown pigment in a drawer, plucking out another vial of white pigment and tapping a little onto the second area, and even less on the third. Setting that down on a table, he picked up a cork-stopped container of clear oil Verrochio had brought him from Milan, dropping enough onto the pigment to liquefy the mixture, and no more. He returned to the easel, checking his brush was dry with his thumb.

"Why didn't you mix your paints before I got here?" Ezio said, voice low.

Leonardo didn't know either, so he evaded. "Why didn't you come on time?" He expected a full-blown rant, with a few choice words directed at his heritage.

For the following hours all that could be heard was their breathing, Leonardo reminding Ezio of his posture and nothing more.

"It is dark out now," said Leonardo, "probably past the eighth hour. You must be going home now."

"I could stay longer, so you can finish some more."

"But I have to let the paint dry so I can glaze some areas afterward. There's nothing I can do but wait for the week's end," said Leonardo, removing his apron and taking his dirtied materials to a basin for one of his assistants to wash later. Ezio looked at him dumbly. "Only then can I apply new paint. It adds dimension."

Ezio waved off the statement, wincing slightly as he rolled his left shoulder. It was a small wince, but Leonardo caught it.

"Is your arm all right?" he asked innocently, trying to sound like he wasn't noticing details that he shouldn't.

"It's fine," was the stiff reply. "Just a little—sore."

"Might I have a look?" he asked. "I dabble in medicine, and _nothing_ I use is invasive—"

"No, _grazie_, the Dottore told me to take some medicine. I'll be fine with it," though he couldn't stop the artist from opening a cabinet and pulling out a jar with a creamy looking, slightly translucent almost-solid liquid mixture in it.

"_Arnica_ gel," Leonardo said. The name was unfamiliar to Ezio, who furrowed his brows. "I acquired this from a merchant from the North. It's made of a mountain herb's extract. It can help heal things," Leonardo looked away. "Bruises especially."

Ezio didn't know whether he should accept or not, but he trusted the man enough, and anyways the other man was already taking the jar's cover off and scooping out the equivalent of a spoonful onto his fingers.

"It smells nice," said Ezio.

"It does," said Leonardo, holding his two fingers up between them. "It also only works through direct contact with skin," he laughed nervously. Ezio laughed the same way. They stood there for a moment, before Ezio realized what Leonardo meant.

"Where will I put this vest?" he said, unbuttoning it hastily.

"Just there on the desk."

"Here? O-okay," he said, and set down the vest gingerly. He loosened the cords that held his undershirt closed, and pulled it over his head.

If Leonardo ever needed a model again, he knew whom to call upon.

While Ezio was setting his garment on the desk, next to the vest, flexing his arm lightly. He wasn't looking as Leonardo's jaw dropped; in his very _honest_ opinion, this man had the body of a God. Thick corded muscles of his arms flowed toward a glittering tan torso like that of _David'_s, and he struggled to think of anything but that which his breeches concealed so well and _what was he thinking?_ He swallowed hard with much effort; in the few seconds that he'd seen Ezio topless, his hands went clammy and mouth dry, and he felt a heat he hadn't felt in a while below his navel, aside from the burning shame he felt was being written on his face: _I lust after a man_, he imagined it said all over his face. Looking elsewhere, he waited for Ezio to face him again. He tried to ignore the fact that he wanted his hands all over Ezio, if not less for sexual purposes and more for the fact that he just wanted to _feel_ what perfection is.

"Leonardo?"

"Y-yes, Ezio?" he said, shaking himself from his thoughts.

"How—how do you apply it?" he asked, baring a large green-and-blue bruise below his armpit on the side of his torso that he didn't fully see. Splotches trailed up his back, crawling up to his shoulder blades like snakevine on marble.

Remembering the _arnica_ was on his fingers, he spread it over his palm and cautiously pressed his hand to the younger man's side.

"It's kind of cold," remarked Ezio, jumping slightly at the touch.

"It's infused with Eucalyptus," said Leonardo, scooping more out of the jar, spreading it tentatively. "They use it often in the east. It soothes the skin," he explained as he pressed slightly harder on one area, and Ezio flinched. "_Mi dispiace,_ I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright," said Ezio through clenched teeth. "Keep going."

Leonardo continued. He spread the _arnica_ in circles, awkwardly asking Ezio to turn so he could get to the areas on his back. Had Leonardo not been so intent on finishing up with the _arnica_, he would have noticed how Ezio's breathing had become laboured and heavy; he was, however, preoccupied with the present job and did not. Truth be told, Ezio _liked_ Leonardo's featherlight touches. He liked them _very_ much.

Blue eyes and warm hands roved over Ezio's back, tracing slow circles despite the fact that he'd covered the bruised areas well enough. It—_he_—was a muscular masterpiece. Everything Leonardo had been studying about the internal systems of the body, especially the _muscles_; they were defined _perfectly_ and—and—it was just _beautiful_.

"I'm finished," Leonardo said, prying his hands off of Ezio. Truth be told, he didn't want to stop running his fingers over his skin, but something was changing in the air and he wanted Ezio to leave as soon as possible because if not, he didn't know just _what_ he might do. "You might want to go home now; your family's probably waiting for you—"

"Tell me you want me," said Ezio in a barely-there whisper. Leonardo wasn't sure if he was just hungry and it was messing with the things he was hearing or maybe he was just tired (he _had_ skipped his afternoon power naps to do the commission) but he was pretty _sure_ Ezio had said something.

"E—excuse me, Ezio, what did you—"

"Leonardo, _**please**_ tell me you want me so that I can justify _my _wanting _you_ because ever since I first saw you I felt something and it's only—it's only _you_ that makes me feel this and I need to _know_ you feel the same and—and—" he rambled, turning to face Leonardo with a frustrated expression all over him. "Leonardo, _please_—"

"Dear _God_, Ezio, be quiet," he said as he forced Ezio to look at him, his head in his hands. Leonardo could feel the burning return to him—though this time, he knew it wouldn't leave. For a moment they just stood there, heated breaths reaching each other's faces, the simple _thought_ of Ezio beneath him driving Leonardo positively mad and he couldn't take it anymore.

"Ezio, do you really want this?" Leonardo asked, reason leaving him altogether: he'd not quite remembered that Vicenzo and Agniolo could be coming back anytime soon, and that this was a client and he's be commiting _sodomy_—Ezio was asking him and who was he to say no because God knows he wanted him too.

That may have been the reason why inch by painstaking inch he closed the gap between his mouth and the younger man's, proceeding to plunder it like there was no tomorrow. He ravaged Ezio's mouth with his tongue and Ezio readily took it, moaning into the kiss as the exchange grew even more heated. Leonardo's hands had left Ezio's face and gone to rip his doublet and undershirt off of him, after which he'd guided Ezio to a table (which was hastily cleared of all the expensive materials he'd just purchased, but somehow Leonardo couldn't care _less_) and set him down to lie on his back. One of Ezio's hands ran up and down Leonardo's toned torso, the other fisting in blond hair as its owner struggled to kick off his boots and tights while pulling down Ezio's own breeches.

"I take it this is your first time," said Leonardo between kisses. "You know what happens—"

"Some have told me of what happens," was the husky reply, as Leonardo positioned himself above Ezio, his already-hard cock hanging in the air between their bodies. Ezio didn't notice Leonardo's hand trailing downward, toward his ass. His hand touched Ezio's leg, and Ezio's wanton response was to spread his legs further.

"It's only going to hurt a little—" he said before pushing his still-_arnica_ coated finger into his tight entrance. Ezio gasped and for a moment stayed very, very still as Leonardo pushed his finger one, two, then three knuckles deep. A tear beaded up at the edge of Ezio's eye but he blinked it away, only for Leonardo to lick the trail it left. "It will get better—just relax," he said, as he began to rock his finger gently in and out of the younger man, who bit his lip. After some time Ezio seemed more relaxed, and Leonardo decided to add another finger. He probed the younger slowly, pushing tentatively to the first knuckle, and the next and the next, and he began the gentle rhythm as he had with the first. Ezio continued to gasp as Leonardo rocked his fingers in and out of him, then Leonardo realized the gasps weren't gasps and were actually pleas for him to _be in him_ already.

"Are—are you sure?" Leonardo asked, not withdrawing his fingers. He didn't want to hurt Ezio, and if he wasn't prepared right this could _hurt_ for days.

(Some twisted part of Leonardo wanted Ezio to get hurt, for him to limp like a _whore_ and show everyone what _he_ did, but he liked to repress that and believe instead that Ezio was ready.)

Ezio nodded, pulling Leonardo's head down to kiss him messily, as if that was confirmation enough. Leonardo kissed back with just as much mess.

Leonardo positioned himself between Ezio's legs, angling himself for better penetration. His pre come dripping head pushed slowly into Ezio, who let out a muffled curse as Leonardo pushed in until he was fully seated. Despite his earlier preparation, Ezio was still a tight virgin and he felt so _good_.

"_Cazzo_, Ezio, you feel amazing," said Leonardo as he withdrew slowly, then pushed back in.

Ezio was doing his best to stifle his cries, but Leonardo was filling him up to the point that he thought he couldn't, and it hurt like a bitch but he didn't want it to stop _at all_.

Leonardo stifled his own cries as he continued to push into the tightness of Ezio, knowing he was stretching little by little with each push and pull. He built a slow rhythm until he knew Ezio could take more, so he picked up the pace and thrust deeper into Ezio. Soon enough they were both dripping with sweat, and Ezio's own cock was spilling pre come onto his carved abdomen. Leonardo was on hands and knees and Ezio was on his back, hands gripping the edges of the table as Leonardo began a rougher, faster rhythm, slamming in and out of Ezio as the world outside began to fall away and it was just the two of them in this studio for God knows how long just _fucking_ and it felt _amazing_.

When Ezio began to fist his own erection as Leonardo lost the rhythm and just began _pounding_ in and out of him and hitting his prostate with each thrust causing him to gasp like a little whore, Leonardo was losing himself in the ecstasy that was around and the ecstasy that was just a little ways away. He thrust like a madman until with a shaken cry, Ezio had come all over the both of them and his inner walls just clamped down around Leonardo's cock, leading to Leonardo coming inside of him as well. Leonardo rode out his orgasm until he was shooting dry into Ezio; he had never come so hard in his life and as a result had kissed Ezio roughly and messily, pulling hair and griding against him, spreading Ezio's come between them before passing out for the night.

Before passing out, he saw Ezio's ruined portrait on the floor, and the silhouette of one of his assistants.

He couldn't care less.


End file.
